


TRUST YOUR DRAGON

by rothalion



Category: Army Of Two (Video Game), Army of Two Graphic novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rothalion/pseuds/rothalion
Summary: A plot bunny about a situation with Salem and Nala. It's been lingering for a while and, I thought that I'd share it. Nala has a huge situation, and she turns to Salem for help.Adult themes are discussed frankly.





	1. Red Sky at Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a casual morning of surf fishing, Salem gets a surprise visitor.

_Red Sky at Morning_

_Salem Residence-Sunrise_

 

After washing down his fishing gear in the beach-side shower stall, Salem wiggled his toes and rotated his ankles beneath the spluttering stream of cool water trying to rinse the crushed shell and sand from his feet and lower legs. As the peach and white hued grit sluiced down the drain, he studied the old, pale scarring marring his lower legs. Dog bites, left calf, an animal trap crushing wound on the right, and a surgery to repair a partially torn right Achille’s tendon marked the serious ones. He was getting old and his body told a tale of the job over working it to the point of near collapse. Somehow though, he kept his head down and kept on going.

Despite being very tired, after another bad night’s sleep, the third in a row, he’d gone out just after first light to fish for Whiting and to try to relax. The sunrise had been spectacular throwing a vivid wash of pinks, reds, and magenta across the brightening, cloud free Autumn sky. Despite a clear sky, the saline scented, cool breeze hinted at an approaching cold front and rain.

“Red sky at morning,” he’d mused while setting up his poles. The aging operator had never known it to be a good omen.

 Fishing was a new hobby for him. Well, new since he’d been a kid trying to live off what he managed to catch for food in the oppressively humid, dank swamp surrounding his ramshackle home. Back then fishing was a source of near debilitating anxiety. He forced the bitter memory aside and smiled. It was just a hitch of his lips and a bit lopsided, the smile he’d carried all of his life, the smile, sans laughter, that he seldom shared with anyone any more. No, there was Vasily, and for Vasily, he actually did laugh.

“Who you kidding, Salem?” he muttered to no one, “Fishing wasn’t the hobby back then, eating was. One you seldom got to do. Fuck, life sucks.”

Finally, sand free and after stowing his three PVC pipe pole holders in the weather worn, wooden storage chest behind the shower, he picked up the trio of matched surf rods, all the better part of eight feet long, empty bait bucket and the stringer of ten fat Whiting. Content with his catch, Salem trudged up to his condo.

            Once inside, he leaned the poles next to his surf boards and made for his small compact kitchen. It was neat and clean which was another new aspect of his life. Until he’d begun fishing, the space was typically in a state of disarray. Salem had been keeping it neat so that when he cleaned his now frequent surf spawned bounty the counters would be available without digging through a dearth of debris. The deep, double sided, stainless steel sink, that he’d had installed, was empty, except for his evening water glass, and left of the new sink an extra-large, custom made butcher block chopping board occupied that entire stretch of counter. The remaining _horizontal space,_ as Rios liked to call it, was remarkably clutter free.

            Elliot dropped the fish into the right hand basin, put the glass into the cupboard with its seven mates and turned on the water. While it warmed up, streaming from the extra tall spigot and over the fish, he crossed to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. The little light illuminated the bright white, nearly empty space. When he was a kid, drunk or stoned and starving, he’d stick his head inside their empty fridge and scream in frustration while hoping for an echo. He still did it sometimes. Old habits…he figured…He might have become a bit neater but he’d not become a better grocery shopper. Nor had he ever, ever created an echo.

            “Beer, or O.J., O.J. or beer? Wait, O.J. with…” leaning back he craned his neck out and upward wincing when it cracked audibly. Cracking complete, he looked atop the black Cuisinart fridge for a bottle of Stoli. It stood there like a proud soldier next to the Brandy, the Whiskey, the Gin and a fancy bottle of Fox and Hound Valley Cabernet Sauvignon left behind when Cielia abandoned him. What a fiasco that relationship, if you could call it that, had been. Just seeing the bottle inclined him to go for the Stoli. Sighing, he dropped his head, stubble clad chin to chest, and grumbled, “Come on, Salem. It, she was a decade ago. The sun’s only been up for a few hours, and you are, after all, trying to be a better dude but…but…fuck, O.J. it is. Sorry fellas.” He lamented to the remaining bottles.

            Content with what he considered considerable self-control he chugged from the carton of pulp-less juice, then with the carton in hand returned to his custom sink to clean his catch.

            “I truly am getting old, Buddy,” he told the first Whiting holding it up and staring into its unmoving black eyes, “The most irresponsible thing I seemed to have managed, so far, today is skipping the glass and chugging straight from my juice carton. Fuck me twice. Fuck, fish if only Rios could see just how devoted I am.”

_Rios Residence_

            Nala rolled over, looked at the old, pink bedside Barbie clock and groaned. Another sleepless night had passed, and she was beginning to feel the effects. Between senior year mid-terms, in all AP classes, finalizing college plans to attend M.I.T., and interning with Secour at T.W.O. ’s tech department and with Murray in mission control, she was stretched thin. She could, of course, forgo the work at HQ, but Nala loved the high level of hands on knowledge that she reaped working in real time situations. Lives depended on her, and she thrived in the stressful, fluid environments. Getting used to the stress of watching her father and Elliot in action had instilled in the highly motivated teen a level of responsibility and maturity far above an average eighteen year old. That fact was why her current predicament made Nala feel so despondent and disappointed in herself; both feelings that she was totally unfamiliar with. She took a quick look at the big tactical watch on her left wrist. The old gift from Elliot displayed the _exact,_ or more accurately the time _synchronized_ to T.W.O.’s time and was ten minutes ahead of Barbie’s pink time. Exasperated, despite living with that discrepancy for a decade, she flopped her arms out to the sides and slapped them onto the mattress several times while kicking her feet beneath the covers like a fish out of water.

            0443 the illuminated watch face had informed her. The clock was ticking, so the teen rolled out of the warm bed, stretched and headed for her bathroom. After a quick shower, she deftly worked her dark hair into a nearly waist long, thick French braid and then dressed in a beige, long sleeved, Hennessey, shirt embossed with the T.W.O. logo. Finally, Nala donned her black 5.11 tactical pants. After a final look in the mirror, hanging behind the bathroom door, she headed out toward the kitchen, boots in hand.

            As usual, her father was already up, sitting at the breakfast bar, scrolling through memos on his lap top from the current watch, updating him about active ops. During the years since her parents’ divorce, the duo had developed a comfortable routine, one more indicative of two cohabiting adults, which suited both of them. The only issues had been when she’d begun staying home alone during Tyson’s deployments. The big operator struggled to control his worry over his twelve year old daughter being unsupervised, despite knowing that Murray was usually just a phone call away and that frequently his parents were in house to provide grandchild overwatch.

Nala sighed and entered the large, rustic country kitchen. She’d half hoped that Tyson had left early. If he studied her face he would note her tiredness, mark it as exhaustion and surely question her. Nala though was not ready to broach the touchy subject troubling her. Before her father could speak, she dropped the boots by her stool, walked over to him, pecked him on his scarred cheek then moved straight to the gurgling coffee pot. Nala filled her camouflage decorated Tervis cup with the last of the coffee and smiled. When she was barely seven, her dad had caught her and Elliot drinking the strong black brew. Tyson had raged at the younger man for fifteen minutes about the responsibility of being a good parent. The younger man withstood Rios’ scolding, barely refraining from laughing, which would have riled her father that much more. Once Tyson walked away, the pair broke up into uproarious laughter. Little did the furious man know but Elliot had been sneaking her the drink for nearly a year. She pressed the lid down tightly and frowned. Elliot rarely laughed like that anymore. He hardly ever even cracked his timid, lopsided smile that she loved so much. He’d cock his head a bit back and to the right and a hint of a cock-eyed smile would follow, just a slight lift of his lips. Maybe Murray and her dad hadn’t noticed its disappearance but she had. She missed his laughter and his smile…missed him.          

Ever since the op in Mexico, six months ago, went so horribly sideways, he’d been behaving out of character. Instead of becoming manic and angry, he’d become insular and more regimented. Nala recalled the mission while refilling the empty coffee maker. Murray and Tyson had lied to him, or better yet with-held the actual mission parameters because they didn’t trust him to _act_ acceptably mortified when arrested for smuggling cocaine into Mexico in order to get into the prison incarcerating their objective. Then after the exfil failed and her father was left behind in the hell hole prison because Elliot had dropped him from the chopper Murray had accused the devastated, smaller man of intentionally letting Rios go. Her father outweighed Elliot by far over one hundred pounds, and there was no way that he could have maintained his grip on the swinging man as the helo gained altitude. As it was, he’d dislocated his right shoulder trying. Murray’s indictment had cut Elliot to the bone, broken his heart, and destroyed his trust in the only two people he’d ever dared to love leaving him floundering. Now, he seemed to be slowly withdrawing from them, and even from her.

Coffee maker re-filled, she went back to her spot, slid up onto her stool and sipped hers carefully. Rios looked up from the hardened laptop and tilted his head left a bit.

“No make-up today, Peach?” He asked his voice gruff with sleep.

Nala shook her head, no. Then she leaned down and pulled on the right, black Merrill tactical boot. She had never been one to wear very much make-up, and her lack of any that morning was a tactical decision that, if he was aware of, would make him proud.

“You okay? You look really tired, Nay.”

“Nope, Dad. Not in the mood, which is why my normally lovely face looks tired. All the ops on point?” she said by way of deflection.

The huge man studied his daughter across the large, rust colored marble breakfast island. He pursed his lips and frowned. Make-up missing aside, his daughter looked worn out. He was tempted to cut her off from her work at HQ but knew that she would be furious. Besides, he wasn’t one to give into weakness himself, and he’d spent eighteen years ingraining that work ethic into the girl.

“Okay, Peach, just, I know you have a lot going on. You know me; it’s a habit checking on my team’s wellbeing.”

Nala, suddenly irritated, stomped into her left boot, and then stomped again to make sure that it was on.

 “What?” she snapped sitting back up and glaring at him across the counter, “Checking on people’s wellbeing, Rios? Right! Have you noticed that he is…”

The look on her father’s face pulled her up short. When she called him Rios, he knew that she was pissed off. The look; squinting eyes, a deeply furrowed brow and a slight lean forward toward the threat meant that she was about to cross the line and become the object of his ire. It was a look that Elliot loved to harass Tyson about making fun of just how serious he appeared when wearing his _stern face_. He’d obviously caught the edge in her voice and labeled it as disrespectful.

“Nothing, never mind, Dad. I guess I am just a bit tired, testy, stressed. You know, mid-terms and what not.”

Mid-terms and what not. No, he didn’t know mid-terms but what not and stress he understood.

“That what, Nala? Noticed he, who, what?”

“Who is he? Are you kidding me? Who else he, Dad? How many he’s are there?” she rattled off then, hearing her own words, realized how ridiculous she sounded, “You know what, it’s nothing, Papa Tank. Forget it. Look, I have to fly. Me and Secour are re-routing and re-calibrating the sat feeds from the DRC, before my first Mid-term at 1030 hours. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Copy that. I’ll be in by 0630. Meeting with a DARPA rep at 0800. Maybe we’ll cross paths.”

“Maybe,” Nala muttered in response, suddenly feeling abashed for lashing out, but defending Elliot was instinctual, and it broke her heart that despite Tyson’s supposed ability to read people he was once again ignoring the subtle changes in the perpetually troubled man’s behavior.

She clomped over to her father, wrapped her long arm around his thick neck, and hugged him tightly before kissing his unscarred cheek. She sniffled, holding back tears. Depending upon how he reacted to the news that she would announce later that day, it might be their last hug for quite some time. After patting him on the back she stood and smiled.

“Sure you’re alright, Peach?”

“Yup. I’m out, Papa Tank. If I miss you at HQ, we’ll catch up later.”

Rios watched her go. Before she made it too far he hollered, “Tie your boots, Nala! God damn your Uncle Elliot and his bad habits.”

Once in her truck, a fully loaded, carnelian red Ford Raptor, that despite her father’s death threats Salem gave her for her sixteenth birthday, she started to cry. HQ was a fifty-three minute drive away, and she needed to be on her game by then. Her personal issues could not impact her job. If she allowed that, operators might die. Her father could die. Elliot, her Dragon One, could die. Everyone had placed their trust in her and she’d broken it. After pounding on the steering wheel eight or ten times, something that Elliot was fond of doing when distressed, she straightened up and moved out.

Nala managed to get away from HQ without running into her father which was a blessing. If she’d looked tired earlier she looked more so now. Four and a half hours of crunching code and staring at six different monitors at once had sapped her flagging energy. Throwing up her light breakfast of half a bagel, some cantaloupe, and more coffee hadn’t helped. In the elevator, she rested her sweaty forehead against the cool, stainless steel wall and tried to calm her nerves. It was 0915, and despite telling Tyson that her exam was at 1030, it was not until the next day, Wednesday, at 1030. Feeling guilty about her lie, she strode across the second floor of the cool, grey parking garage resisting the urge to run. Not seeing Tyson before leaving HQ was a boon that she did not want to lose.

Once at the Raptor she climbed up, settled into the black leather seat and headed to Tuesday’s destination, Elliot’s condo. Unlike her father, tucked away at work, she knew that Elliot would be at home.

“Black leather and we live in the hottest state in the union…what were you thinking Dragon One?”

While sitting in the early morning commuter traffic, Nala thought about Elliot and his estrangement from the team. If nothing else it distracted her from her own problem. After the Mexico debacle, they’d reduced Salem’s _shop_ time. The teen fumed at the decision. Despite how they’d spun the decision trying to make it look positive _,_ saying _,_ ‘Why complain Salem? Aside from tac training, you know that you hate shop work. Considered it like paid leave _._ Relax. Hell, maybe go fishing or something.’ She knew that it amounted to another case of betrayal, another example of their lack of trust in Elliot’s ability to uphold operational integrity. The teen also knew that while Elliot hadn’t complained he’d also considered the assignment, or lack thereof, yet another slight. She knew from talking with him that the perceived betrayal had once again hurt the weary operator deeply. His greatest fear was that Rios would abandon him, cast him out and it was coming true. Rios and Murray had ordered him to stay at home until called. Nala had tried to rally him, get him to complain, but it seemed, to the ever loyal girl, that the young man’s will to serve T.W.O. had died. But then, as always, Salem endured their decision, kept his head down, and marched forward. Alone. The brief flash of anger passed as she dropped the powerful truck into first, and moved along with the traffic. Worrying about Elliot pushed her own problem aside, for a bit, which settled her tumbling stomach. She might be in deep shit, but loving Elliot, protecting her Dragon One came first.

 

 

 

 


	2. Open Door Policy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nala arrives, and the morning gets off to a cheerful start.

_Open Door Policy_

_Salem Residence_

Salem broke up the chunk of locally sourced Chorizo dropping the bits into a hot cast iron frying pan. It began sizzling and he pushed it around the pan with a wooden spatula. The Whiting fillets were delicate, and Salem wanted to shallow fry it in something other than plain olive oil, or lard. The Chorizo was browning nicely coating the square pan with thin layer of rich, spicy oil. He loved the heavy pan and spatula. Vasily had taken him to the fancy kitchen store and helped him chose them. The only food he cooked in the pan was seafood, and he used the spatula solely with the pan. Water and cleanser never touched the treasured iron, now that he’d finally gotten it perfectly seasoned.

This was the third batch. Shallow frying took perfect heat and perfect breading. When the sound of the sizzling was just right, Elliot layered the pan with six, lightly breaded, pan length, inch, and half wide fillets. While they fried, he dumped a cup of Panko into the food processor, followed by half a cup of fine corn meal, some Paprika, Cayenne pepper flakes, Cumin and sea salt. He jammed the button and turned back to the stove. He nudged the closest fillet over slightly to check for brown-ness, then began flipping the batch. Once flipped, he turned off the processor. Next, Salem gently moved the previous batch from the drain rack and into a ceramic casserole lined with parchment paper. By the time that task was completed, the frying fillets were also finished and Salem lined them up across the drain rack. Then he started the process for the fourth time. As he was dipping fillets into the egg wash, he heard the front door click closed.

“Hey, Dragon one?”

Elliot shook the fillet carefully, letting the excess egg and dark lager wash drip off, then removed the pan from the stove top turning off the large induction burner.

“Hey, kiddo,” he replied wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, looking past her to see if she was alone. “Wasn’t expecting anyone. No school, mid-terms? Work?”

“Nope. Smells fantastic, Uncle Elliot. Your cooking is really improving.”

Salem tossed the red and black stripped towel onto the breakfast island and let her pull him into a hug. She held on to him while leaning down kissing him on his left cheek. Nala had her mother’s dark beauty, long legs, and Rios’ bulk albeit in a lovely way because it was spread about her lithe frame evenly. At five-foot-eleven and a half inches, the teen was actually taller than Salem. She was model material but beauty, despite Samantha’s best efforts, meant little to the strong willed girl. She’d forgone pageants and participated in paintball events instead. They parted and Salem waved for her to have seat at the island.

“Brought beer. Your favorite.” She said holding up the brown paper bag.

He frowned feigning dismay and outrage but took the package, “How’d you buy this, missy? And where at this hour in the morning?”

Nala laughed at his play acting, and hopped up onto a stool, “Oh, you know, Dragon One. I bribed a wino sitting at the curb in front of Billy’s Liquor to buy it for me. I actually had to flash my…”

“Young lady! Cool, I do love Corona. Yea, it’s regular but…”

“Good times, right.”

“Good times.” Agreeing Salem stowed the twelve pack into the refrigerator. He took out two bottles, opened them with the opener attached to the side of the cupboard and set them on the island sliding Nala hers. “To new gooder times.”

They clinked bottles, “Gooder times.”

“Listen, help me finish up in here, two batches to go and then I’m all yours. Kinda in the middle of it. Deal?”

The duo cooked for nearly an hour, and then cleaned up what, to Nala, seemed like far too little mess for Salem. She put the last of the yellow and orange ceramic bowels into the cupboard and clapped her hands together. 

“All done, Dragon One. It’s beer-thirty. And, wow, I have to say that I am proud to see you cleaning as you work. Very impressive.”

They fist bumped, and Nala could tell that he was trying to be upbeat for her sake.

“You know, if your fat old man said that I’d take it as criticism, but coming from you it means something. Hell, kiddo I am trying. Go on set up the game up, and I’ll grab us beers.”  
            Nala went into the living room and turned on Salem’s Playstation console. They’d been gaming since she was a little kid. Her father disapproved of the added violence in her life but gave up trying to stop them. Elliot returned, plopped down next to her and gave her a beer.

“Your old man know you’re slammin’ back beers?”

“Oh, yea. Go ahead start it. You have control. I want to be the big guy again. You know, irresponsible me, pounding beers, popping pills, ditching school; the norm for delinquent kids like me.”

“He’d kill me if he walked in right now. Fuck, And-a-Half are you even trying?”

“He damn near killed you for giving me coffee. Ugh, dead again.”

“What the hell, he can only kill me so many times, right? How many times do you think I have left? Hey, get your head in the game, come on!”

“Look,” Nala began setting her controller down on the uncluttered coffee table. “I’m in trouble, big trouble, Dragon One. I need help.”

Salem put down his controller, slid back into the corner of the leather couch and studied her. He tried not to look concerned, but his heart was racing. He trusted his gut, and it was telling him that it was indeed bad trouble. No matter what it was, he refused to be judgmental. That wasn’t what she’d come to him for. They’d just handle it like a mission and work through it.

“Alright, I’m listening, shoot.”

Nala nodded and wrung her hands together, it had taken her two weeks to build up the courage to come to him for help, help that technically, depending on her decision, she really didn’t need.

“I messed up. Messed up not like drinking, drugs or failing school messed up, messed up.”

“Okay, so talk to me, and whatever it is we’ll get through it. I’ve never been a great guesser.”

“Yea, well I’m not so sure that I’m a great teller. I, it was an accident. It was not supposed to happen. I just…I am usually so responsible, and I feel like such a fool, Dragon One. I let you and everyone else…”

“Your pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant”

The word hung between them for a long time. Elliot fought for control, and he figured that Nala was as well. He knew that he needed to have his thoughts straight before speaking. Saying the wrong thing at a time like this might send the _mission_ sideways. What troubled him though was that her admission had stirred feelings in him that he’d thought long dead and forgotten, feelings that if he failed to control them might spiral him out of control when she needed him the most. He was the adult, and he needed to hold it together for her.

“Say something, Uncle Elliot, please.”

Her voice dragged him back, and he blinked repeatedly before clearing his throat. The beer bottle on the table drew his eye, and he snatched it up, took a long swig and squeezed his eyes shut again, and ran his left hand back through his hair.

“Look, kiddo…I’m good. I just want to gather my thoughts before babbling the wrong shit. I’m good.”

“I’m not. I am freaking out. I don’t know what to do. I have M.I.T. in the spring, I have work, I have a dad that is absolutely going to kill me for being so irresponsible, and I have no business, no business at all bringing a life into this fucked up world. He’s going to blame you Dragon One!”

“Me? Ah, Kiddo, I know you’re upset but that’s the least of our problems. No, not problems. It’s, this is not a problem, Kiddo. It is an issue, a situation that we can manage. Besides, why blame me for fuck’s sake, why? Don’t answer that yet. I need another beer, you?”

Salem launched off the sofa and rushed to the kitchen. Once there he rested his forehead against the refrigerator. He was shaking. He was shaking, and he couldn’t figure out why. What the hell was he going to tell her to do? How was he going to manage Tyson, and better yet Samantha. He snatched the door open hard enough to rattle some condiment jars. After taking two beers out he returned to Nala.

She was sitting further back on the couch with her knees pulled up under her chin. Salem sighed, and sat back down on his end. The kid looked horrible, he noted for the first time since she’d arrived. How had he missed it?

“I hate to see you so upset and scared. I am going to do everything and anything I can to help you. But I think that we need to lay all the cards on the table and some of them might not be pretty. Every mission has shitty aspects. This one’s no different, Kiddo. If I seem upset believe me it’s not because of your situation, it’s just me. Now, what the hell happened, well besides the obvious which I do not need the details of.”

Nala took a long sip of her Corona and began.

“It was nothing, just a hook up at a party. I know that sounds gross, it was gross, I guess, but it happened. Then we got together a few more times and one of them we didn’t well it was on the fly and we didn’t take precautions. I might have been just a little bit drunk. It was an irresponsible teenager moment and me the responsible one paid the ultimate fuck up price. My life, if dad lets me live, is over, and he’s going to hate you.”

“Again why me?”

“Oh, my god, Dragon One! You know him, how he is! How his mind works. He will consider coffee at age six a gateway drug to teenage pregnancy.”

“I think that’s reaching, And-A-Half, even for him. I don’t…”

“It happened in my Raptor! My Raptor that you, against his strongly voiced warnings, gave me anyway!”

            “Oh.”

            “Mhm-Hmhm.”

            “Right, well at least one of us will live to meet the baby.”

            “Not funny. I hate when he attacks you. I hate…”

            “Not about me, so stop.” He cut her off holding up  his left hand palm forward, “We need to get you figured out.”

            “I cannot keep it.”

            “Let’s back up a step, Kiddo. This hook up, does he know?”

            “No. I mean why bother, Uncle Elliot. He’s a nobody. He’s going to Cal Berkley, on the other side of the country. We don’t even really know one another, and really don’t want to.”

            “Well, you sound like you know what you want.”

             Nala sensed disappointment in his voice.

“But I don’t. I think I do, then an hour later everything gets flipped on its head and I’m at a loss again.”

            “Well if it’s money…”

            “No! I can have the procedure done. I have the money and don’t even need consent. I can have it done by weeks end. It…”

            “It’s called an abortion, Nala.”

            She paled at the term and felt angry at him for making her face it. It was too parental and Elliot had never played at being her parent.

            “I know that! Don’t you think that I know that?”

            He held his hands up in surrender, “I, yea, I know that you do. I just that’s a big, big decision. I just want to make sure that you’ve, that you understand all the baggage that comes with that choice.”

She looked at him wide eyed, “Baggage? I didn’t expect you to be so judgmental!”

            “I, I’m not. Let’s backup, slow down. I…”

            “It’s my body, my life and I get to choose.”

            “You do. I’m not disputing that, Kiddo. I would never fuckin’ dispute that.”

            “Then what?”

            “Why not consider all options?”

            “Options? Like cancelling M.I.T.? Like raising a kid while trying to finish raising myself? Like bringing a kid into this cess pool we call humanity? Like disappointing my dad and destroying his entire world by proving that I am just as fucked up as a regular teenager? What options?”

            Her vehemence shocked him, and cess pool…that just angered him. He needed to use caution moving forward.

            “I…cess pool, that’s harsh. Is that what we are fighting to save, a cess pool?”

            “No, Oh, god no, I…” she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and growled in frustration, “I just mean that Uncle Elliot the world is a scary place. I didn’t mean…”

            “I get it. Options, like having the baby and we all help you through M.I.T., raising you both and keeping it safe in this scary world and making your fat assed, judgmental old man proud that you took the hard road and succeeded. Or two, Have the baby and choose adoption. There are families that would kill for a child of their own. Then three, well abortion which may seem like the easy, clean, safe choice but before you do that understand it too has ramifications. Problem is, Kiddo, those ramifications will only be managed by you and _your_ conscience. And believe me, And-A-Half we are completely alone with our consciences. I can’t help you with that. I can’t handle mine. I don’t care how you slice it; scientifically, religiously or just ethically, abortion negates a life. It robs this cess pool of a life that might actually make a difference. Sorry. Didn’t mean to lecture you.”

            Nala was stunned. Elliot continued to surprise her, he had layers that she’d never really considered.

            “What I said, Kiddo, it’s the cards I was talking about, the ugly stuff that needs addressing for the mission to succeed. You understand, right?”

            “Yea, I just…you surprised me, Uncle Elliot. I just…you broke that all down like you’ve had to work this all out before. All so quickly. Too quickly. I’ve been thinking for weeks it seems like and still no solution, decision. I’m just so scared to do the wrong thing. I have plans. Plans that I have worked toward my whole life and having kids was not part of it. I just don’t have that mothering thing that women do. Maybe because of how my mother was with us, me and Dad, but I just don’t think that I am wired that way. I don’t know if I have what it takes to love a baby, love anybody.”

            “Hey, you are more than capable of loving, Kiddo! Come on, look at how you take care of your fucked up Uncle Elliot. In case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t the easiest to love either.”

            “It’s not the same as wanting to mother a child. What if I have it and just don’t feel anything? What then? If I have the…the abortion, then I’ll have time to grow up a bit, to have a baby on my terms when I’m ready. Wouldn’t that be better, Dragon One?”

            “Having things, doing things on your own terms isn’t always an option. Life’s just not fair that way. Sometimes you have to sacrifice and take the hard road to do what’s right. This job that we do, your dad and me, he might not believe it, pretty sure that he doesn’t, is all about sacrifice. There’s no glory in it just sacrifice and disappointment. It’s about forgetting having your own terms. I…I’m rambling. What I want to try to say is that taking a life…”

            “I never considered that you were anti-abortion, Uncle Elliot. I’m surprised. I’m sorry for taking this, well not looking at from the perspective of taking a life.”

            “It’s not so much that, Kiddo. It’s fuckin’ hard for me to define how I feel. Hell, I’d love for everything to work out according to your plans, but sometimes… sometimes life switches shit up and we surprise ourselves. I…I don’t condone it, abortion, no. Honestly, I don’t fuckin’ see it as a choice and that people do scares the shit outta me, Kiddo. I’ve killed so many people…and I didn’t have a choice most times. So if you do, and you do, I just want you to make one that won’t haunt you, hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m fuckin’ this all up. It’s fuckin’ me all up. Look gimme a minute okay. Just a minute.”

            Before Nala could say anything, Elliot was gone, disappearing into his bedroom behind the closed door. The odd reaction confused her. The last thing that she’d considered when telling him was him getting so upset. Well, so upset in the way that he had. His opinions and advice were also not at all what she’d expected, especially the anti-abortion bits. The teen felt guilty for involving him. The door banging open against the wall dragged her back from her musings and she watched him yank it back unsticking the door knob from the old hole in the wall where it always hit.

            “I’m gonna show you this stuff. I’m gonna share this with you not to shame you into anything, but because…because I am a shitty explainer. Because, Nala I fuckin’ love you, Kiddo, more than you can believe. You understand?”

            He was manic, not a good state for Salem and it worried her. Something had set him off, something other than just her problem.

            “Sure, Uncle Elliot, go ahead.”

            “No one, you will tell no one about any of this. Not your fuckin’ old man. Not your hateful mother, Not Murray, no one! Swear it!”

            She nodded, frightened by his behavior. He held out a battered five by seven photograph. It had been folded and re-folded but she could still see the picture clearly. It was three people. Elliot, a very, very young Elliot stood on the left holding a toddler and beside him stood a woman. They were all smiling.

            “Who…who are those people?”

            He shook his head as if trying to shake his thoughts free. Then he pounded on the sides of it several times. Finally, he looked at her, tears streaming down his cheeks. She’d seen him cry before but those occasions had been when he was extremely distraught.

            “Wife, my wife Jennifer, daughter Nichole.”

            “Wife, daughter?”

            He nodded and dragged his sleeve across his face clearing away the tears. Then he sat back down on the couch shoulder to shoulder with her. He had a small photo album in his shaking hands. He leaned back into the supple leather. Finally, he reached out and gently touched the old photo.

            “Was the day I shipped out to…Sarajevo. I’d had a two week leave and then straight back out again. Jen was twenty-three, Nichole was four.”

            “You?”

            “Nineteen.”

            Nala did the math.

            “Fifteen, father at fifteen?”

            “Father, felon, junkie, inmate, hopeless.”

            “I Don’t understand.”

            “I was her dealer. She was older, really aggressive. I was not, look you know some of the stuff that happened to me, Kiddo, none of it good and not really good at saying no, and she well she just took what she wanted from me…sex, and I didn’t have the skill set to say no. I didn’t get it back then, didn’t understand. She told me she loved me. That we’d be together, all stuff I craved, so we just kept at it. Her old man was a hot shot lawyer, hated me. She was a junkie. She convinced me I loved her.” He paused and stroked the picture again, “I was so fucked in the head that I just ate it all up. We were a couple and couples were a good thing in my mind. Then she ends up knocked up. I had nothing to offer her, and her old man wouldn’t help anymore. I went and tried to beg him, and he had me beaten to a pulp. Said she was gonna have an abortion, that his grandkids weren’t gonna be the spawn of a white trash junkie. She wasn’t really fighting him either. I couldn’t let that happen. I convinced her to keep it that I’d do whatever it took to keep them safe. She started at the methadone clinic and things were looking up. But I needed money and made a shitty deal. Ended up killing the son of a bitch, and her old man railroaded me into prison. But you knew most of that, sorry. She had Nichole while I was inside. I didn’t get to hold her for seven and a half months, but when I did it was love at first sight. I swore that I’d stay alive, get out, be a dad, a husband…If not for Nichole I’d have killed myself in there, Nala. Nichole was the first person that I loved, the first time that I loved and it showed me that what Jen and I had was different. Nichole was my baby, she was hope. My only hope. Everything I did was for her. I could have fought the conviction. It was self-defense, but a loss meant life. I took the plea for fifteen years. For her, for my  daughter.”

            “I don’t know what to say.” She offered buying time trying to piece it all together. The situation was completely crazy.

            Salem shrugged. He didn’t know what he wanted her to say. The entire reveal had been so spontaneous and out of character that he’d shocked himself.

            Defeated, he shrugged and leaned against her, “Nothing, really. I just wanted to show you that sometimes the most crazy twists of fate can reap beautiful things. That’s all.”

            “Where are they now? How come you never told anyone? Told me?”

            “Dead, And-A-Half. They’re gone.”

            “Gone?” she asked sitting up and turning toward him, “Gone when, how? Oh, my god! I am so sorry.”

            “Not long after the picture actually. When Jen found out my leave for Christmas had been cancelled again…she started back on drugs. Heroin again. Found some dirt bag junkies on the post, other spouses. Don’t know details. She gave Nichole an overdose and then herself. Gone.”

            The silence in the living room was thick and heavy but to Nala, despite that, it seemed to crackle with an aura of impending doom. Then again the space around Elliot always crackled like that. His presence made the atmosphere sing with danger and edginess. Elliot had a dead wife and child. It was too absurd to fathom. She had a million questions but didn’t know where to or even if she should begin asking them.

            “You never saw them again?” She asked very quietly, reverently.

            “No. Got a letter from her father on my way on the plane to your old man in Djibouti,”

He shrugged again, “No need to get all into it, this isn’t about me, Kiddo. He blamed me. Sent me the bill for the funeral. Five figures and I paid back every cent. Not good times. Lost my whole team in Sarajevo, my family back here and they gave me to a monster named Rios. Not…not good times. I need a beer.”

           

           

           

           

           

 

 

           

           

 

           

             

 

 

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Past and Future Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duo begins formulating a plan.

_Past and Future Tense_

 

When Elliot returned from the kitchen he seemed calmer. Passing behind her, he squeezed her left shoulder as he rounded the sofa. She’s holding up well, he thought, better probably than I am. His mind was crunching all the possible permutations of her choices, a skill that he’d honed from childhood and put to very good use as a top tier operator. Of the three choices adoption was his least favorite. To the soldier and the forsaken little boy in him, it just felt too much like abandonment. He knew that it wasn’t but couldn’t shake the feeling. This baby was one of them and kicking it to the curb just was not going to happen on his watch. Not that he could do anything about it. No service in their right mind would give him a kid, but if they would he’d volunteer.

            He sat down again this time a bit apart from her. She still held the picture in her long fingers and was rubbing her thumbs gently across Nichole’s sun pinked face. Salem winced when he noticed that her left thumb was missing about a quarter of an inch. When Nala was ten, he’d left his Randall fighting stiletto on the weapon’s work bench at Rios’ house while sharpening it. He’d only turned his back for a moment to grab a beer from the garage fridge across the room, but when he got back the child had nipped off the tip of her thumb. So much for good parenting. Elliot reached out and took the hand in his and then ran his right thumb over the old wound.

            “He really, really fucking wanted to kill me that day. I think the fact that you weren’t even fazed by it was what saved me. How could be the aghast father if his daughter was, ‘Dad it’s a nick, don’t be a such a fucking cry baby.”

            Nala laughed for the first time since she’d confessed her situation. Then she set the photo on the coffee table.

            “I did say that too, just like that. I remember clearly. Remember, he threatened to wash my mouth out with soap while I spewing blood everywhere. Wow, what a day. Somehow, I don’t think he’s going to be as open to this though, Dragon One.”

            “No, and I can’t say that I blame him, Kiddo. Bein’ pregnant is a big fuckin’ deal. But hell, if we can destroy missile bunkers in Afghanistan, fight off half the Chinese army and sink an aircraft carrier toting nukes set to blow up a country; I think we can deal with a pregnancy and a baby.”

            Nala leaned back, frowned and studied him closely, “Are you supposed to tell me things like that, mister?”

            “Who the fuck cares, anymore. The hell with secrets! But lemme ask you, And-A-Half; and tell me the truth. If you go the abortion…”

            “Damn it, that is an ugly, horrible word. I never noticed that before, Uncle Elliot. Fuck, this is all just so fucked up.”

            “Yea, but now we’re workin’ on a plan. Workin’ on it together. If you choose that route, were you gonna tell your fat assed father?”

            “No.”

            “Figured. I kept my secret, lots of secrets all of this time. I think that part of me doesn’t even believe it all actually happened to me like it was another, some other me. Most of the time anyway. Other times…your birth, birthdays, mother’s and father’s days…Nala that shit, keeping it all tamped down so that I didn’t feel anything, so you guys could be happy, that shit is not fuckin’ healthy, and I do not want that for you. My head’s screwed up like that. I repress the bad stuff so fuckin’ deep, but you, you shouldn’t, can’t, because you are strong and well adapted and have so many of us who have your six. Understand? So, whatever you decide, promise me that your father will be involved.”

            “And my mother?”

            “Fuck your mother seven times over straight into to hell.”

            “Ah, what does that even mean, Dragon One?”

            “Who the fuck cares?”

            The girl took a long sip of her Corona and leaned deeper into Salem’s couch. During the last weeks of trying to make a decision, she’d convinced herself that abortion and secrecy were her only viable choice. That way, no one would be hurt. Her life would march on down the proscribed path unencumbered by the result of one night of carelessness. Talking with Salem though had opened up new insights. He wasn’t one to share his emotions unless pushed into a corner, and then he hid his true feelings behind his fury. Today though, he’d opened up to her bearing his soul. Bearing it to prevent her from suffering alone with her burden like he had for so many years. Just the fact that the solitary man had taken that chance was all that the troubled teen needed to fortify her courage and change the direction of her plan.

            “Whatever we decide, _I decide_ , I will absolutely bring daddy into the loop. I swear.”

            Hearing that Elliot relaxed. He didn’t care if Tyson hated him for helping Nala, well he did, but that would never keep him from doing it, but having him in the loop went a long way to easing that pathway. Now, he knew, they needed to get into the situation and come up with a plan. *

            “So, what are you thinking, Kiddo?”

            “I don’t know where to start. I just wish that I could take it back. I mean how do you do it?”

Salem paled, “Do it? I think you two must have had that part figured out.”

            Nala smiled and laughed, and for some reason seeing it made Elliot very happy. The little girl was still there, just buried under a young woman’s problem.

            “No! The hooking up and not getting in trouble. I mean we were just partying and had a few beers, and then it was in play, and we had no supplies and didn’t, couldn’t stop. How do you, how have you managed all these years in the bars, not to you know…end up a dad again? Or have you?”

            It was Elliot’s turn to smile, “First, no, no little mini-monster Salem’s are swimming around loose in the cess pool. Second, I know what the guys think and say and none of it is true, Nala. I always treated you like you were a little adult, now you are an adult so, you want frankness or bullshit?”

            “Frankness, Uncle Elliot. Pretty sure bullshit went out of the window about a month ago.”

            “Fair enough. I do not _hook up_. I mean not in the true sense of the term. I guess. This is fucking awkward.”

            “And this, my stuff isn’t? You can hide yours. In nine months I’m gonna be a fat as a cow. No hiding that.”

            “Good point. I, I don’t understand sex, this hooking up. It’s maybe because of the fucked up stuff I have suffered. Maybe, I just wasn’t wired that way period. For me, it’s just socially acceptable, and if you don’t you’re broken or dysfunctional or something.”

            “That is so true!”

            “Uhn-hunh… anyway, peer pressure aside, for me these women they come at me, you know, and I just…it’s never…you really want to hear this?”

            “I just want to understand why I caved into it, and…these days at school and stuff; it’s just not considered a big deal.” *

            “Nala, full disclosure!” he snapped, then, _You can say it, Salem. Pretend you are charging a mounted gun, go!_ “I have had actual had…inter…fucked a grand total of three women in my entire life. No, frag that. I have been fucked by three women in my entire life. There I said it.”

            “Three?”

            “Three.”

            “Oh, okay, well…”

            “Well, what?!” He squeaked.

            “That’s about twenty-five times less than I have, and about three people fewer. I knew better, and that is what makes this all so stupid! I missed my pill and didn’t have back up and…Seriously three?”

            Elliot stood up and glowered down at her. “Listen, missy, now who’s being all judgmental? It’s Stoli time, and no, you, beer only; and you have only one left. Fuck me twice.”

            He stomped off to the kitchen, not sure if he should be amazed, or appalled. Kids these days. Her pill, her protection, twenty-five plus times…in hind sight, he should have kidnapped her and taken her to the woods to grow up. Well no, he grew up in a swamp and look how he’d ended up. At the refrigerator, he wanted to stick his head inside, scream and slam the door on himself repeatedly. Hooking up? What hell did that even mean?

            “Here, last one, well after you finish the one you still have.”

            “So, the stories, the strip clubs…”

            Salem poured a second shot of Stoli, downed it and leaned back into the couch once again shoulder to shoulder with his God Daughter. He stuck the bottle between his thighs and ran his hands back through his hair.

            “You should try this next time.” He said pointing at the bottle, tight between his thick thighs.

            “Stoli? I think that the twelve pack of Bud was problem enough, don’t you?”

            “No, you hold one in between your legs see, and then you can’t well…the shop’s closed for business, so to speak.”

            “Elliot Nicholas Salem! That is so…oh my fucking god; I cannot believe that you just said that! I’m just…”

            “Just sayin’”

“The clubs!?”

“Smoke and mirrors. These women come after me. So yea, maybe I let them,” he frowned poured and drank another shot and continued, “Let them do some oral things but that’s it. Means nothing. Honestly, without the booze, my fuckin’ shit probably wouldn’t even work. The guys see me leaving for a bit, think I’m fucking like a bunny, and I say nothing. The world is at peace.”

“Cielia?” Nala asked softly. He’d already told her that Jen was the aggressor and now that made even more sense. “Jen, Cielia and the third one?”

            “{}, long time ago and not exactly what I’d call a normal situation.”

“And none of them, was because you wanted to, needed to? You just don’t want to? I wish I didn’t want to. I always tried to be like you and this, fuck me twice I botched this. I thought that you were hooking up all the time. No! That’s not why I did it, sorry, it’s just, it would have happened anyway. It just took some of the inhibition away.”

“No, wanting to is normal, Kiddo. It makes you human. Me, I’m just fucked up bad. Not anywhere near being human. I’m glad that you want to. I just hope that someday you see that it might be better if there was some, well you know, some caring involved, not just hooking up. I really do not like that phrase, And-A-Half.”

“Sorry, all the kids use it. So, you never did it because you wanted to?”

Salem closed his eyes and thought back, “Just the once, and I was so, so under the influence of them that I did just go along, but not in a scared way. They were caring, nothing like ever before. I mattered to them. They made me feel wanted, special maybe even.”

“Them?” Nala asked incredulously, “You don’t want sex, need sex but the one time that you did enjoy it was with a _them_? Do tell. What kind of them? This is getting juicy, Dragon One.”

“Did I say _them_?”

“You did indeed.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be about your little situation?”

“I suppose. But…really a them? Besides this talking has made me feel better than I’ve felt in weeks, Uncle Elliot.”

“They did my dragon tattoo.”

“Are you kidding me?” She blurted sitting up straight and staring at him. She knew the tale of the tattoo, how he’d gotten it at Gabe’s house on the fourth of July. But apparently, some parts of the story were left out. “But, I thought that the artist was a…” Nala broke off again as realization kicked in, “You and them? Him and her? All three of you?”

“Kinda.”

“This explains so much!”

Nala flopped back and Salem sat up.

“Like fucking what?”

“Like Vasily!”

“What about Vasily?” He squawked.

“Early sexual encounters can dictate future sexual preferences, Vasily. All of it, don’t you see?”

“I see that we are getting way off topic here, Nala.”

Nala sat back up, “I know, sorry. Look, we were being frank, right?”

“I am not so sure anymore if that’s a good plan.”

“It is. Can I still be frank?”

“Bird’s out of the cage.”

“The bird’s…isn’t it the cow is out of…”

“Just go, get on with your frankness, so we can get back to your cow situation. I didn’t want to seem indelicate by using cow.”

Nala cracked up laughing and that got a genuine laugh from Elliot. They both flopped back and Salem offered her the bottle of Stoli.

“Go for it. He’s gonna kill us both anyway, so what the fuck?”

The teen took a long pull, grimaced and handed back the bottle. Then she surprised him by taking his right hand in both of hers. She pulled up the sleeve of his black, long sleeved Barrett Arms tee shirt and ran her stubby thumb back and forth across the scarring.

“I know he did this to you, Vasily did. I can only imagine how much it hurt. Well, I broke mine too so…but now I know that it hurt much more than just here because I know about Jen and Nichole now and how my dad treated you back then and how alone and lost you must have been. I also know, have known for a really long time, Dragon One, that you love him with all of your heart. No, let me finish, and then we solve my problem. I just couldn’t put it all together, why you hold back from him. I know that you love my dad too, and I’d bet that for a time you wanted it to be more like how you love Vasily. I…”

“Stop.”

“No. I’ve heard the arguments between mom and dad over you, so trust me I am in that loop. Dad does love you but not like that. I’m sorry, I guess, but not so much because Vasily loves you; for you, broken and everything. Vasily will give you everything that you felt that night with them. You should go for it. Sure, it’s scary, but what’s not? Maybe, it’s not that you don’t want sex, Uncle Elliot but that you don’t want it with women or anyone that doesn’t love you. I am done. Give me the bottle, and let’s round up that cow.”

 

 

 

 

           

           

           

             

 

 


	4. Door Number Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, but I am a bit stuck with this story for now. After a morning of sharing secrets, the pair prepares to bring Rios into the loop.

_Door Number Three_

The pair sat quietly for a time, both searching their hearts for answers. Moving forward was going to bring drastic changes to each of their lives, no matter what decisions were made in the coming hours. Salem had spent years suffering the ribbing of the guys about sex and he felt an enormous sense of relief to finally be understood. He didn’t dwell upon the hurt that their comments inflicted, non the less the barbs ran deep. Nala had done everything right, and one mis-step was going to radically alter her life. It was a testament to just how quickly life can be upended. He closed his eyes briefly and let her options skip across the backs of his lids. Time to get down to business. Every mission had a start time and theirs was now.

            “I think it’s horse out of the barn.” He mused trying to open the conversation going again, “Yea, pretty sure, because once he’s out and haulin’ ass you can’t catch him. He’s a runaway. Situation’s fucked and you’re playin’ catch up. Horse.”

            “Tend to agree, Dragon One. So how do I catch up? Honestly, I’m feeling more like this is a Pandora’s Box situation.”

            “Well option one; you have the abortion. Pros?”

            “I make my freshman semester at university, I won’t have another life to be responsible for yet, the next nine months won’t be unbearable…”

            “Cons?”

            “I really don’t think abortion should be used to bail me out. I had birth control, and I fucked it up. It’s on me. Since I’m healthy, in my heart of hearts, I just can’t condone it. I would be taking a life out of selfishness, and I’d have to live with that guilt. It was a knee jerk reaction, the easy way out, well except for my conscience, anyway, and you convinced me that you can’t hide from that.”

            “All valid points. Option two, adoption?”

            “Never, Uncle Elliot. Leave no man behind. I just couldn’t do it not knowing what happened to it. I just couldn’t deal with the guilt of giving it away to make my life easier.”

            “And door number three, you keep your baby.”

            Her baby. It was the first time in the entire conversation that either had referred it as _her baby_. Nala gasped, as the reality truly set in. Her baby.

“It is isn’t it?”

“Sure is, Kiddo.”

“I keep it. and I work a million times harder to succeed at all of my plans. No matter what, Dad is going to be pissed off. No matter what, having or not having this kid is going to be a lifelong burden, but I think that listening to you and seeing how your guilt affected you; guilt would be the heavier one. I don’t have the same problems that you did. I have a full time job at HQ if I want it, instead of M.I.T. until the baby is old enough. I have medical, the best money can offer. I have a place to live. If he throws me out, I hope I can come to you until I get on my feet. Hell, I make enough to have my own place. I‘d hate to come in between you guys, though.”

“You let me deal with the grumpy, old lard ass.

“You shouldn’t call him that. He really doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his body, Dragon One. Moving along, and only because they’re here most of the year, I don’t think that Gram and Grampa Rios will be angry. Upset that my plans are upside down, maybe, but I’m sure that they’ll be on my side. What else? Most importantly you taught me that anyone can make a difference and that I should give this little life a chance to make theirs. It’s not just about me anymore, Uncle Elliot. I see that now because you shared Nichole with me. I really wish I’d have gotten to meet her. I’m so sorry. She had, you gave her a chance, and Jen robbed her of it. I just can’t do that to my baby. I just can’t.”

Elliot sniffled holding back tears, “I’m proud of you, and thank you. Anything you need from here on out, you come to me. Me and Tyse have been fighting for years, And-A-Half, there’s nothing that would break my heart more than for him to throw me away. But this, you and this baby…you guys come first, and if it means losing him, then so be it. Understood?”

“Copy that. Besides, now you have Vasily. You have to talk with him, Dragon One; promise me. New start for all of us, right?”

“New starts. But no promises about Vasily, Kiddo. Not ready to open the barn door on that horse yet.”

“Horse, Dragon One? That’s more an elephant in the room sort of scenario.”

 

 

           

 

           

 


	5. Slamming Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rios discovers that Nala skipped school and goes looking for her.

 

 Slamming Doors

T.W.O Headquarters

 

Rios fumbled his cell phone around with his left hand, finally flipping it over. The caller ID announced that the caller was Nala’s school. He furrowed his brow and swiped right to open the call, “Gotta go, Murray. Nala’s school is on the line. Rios, can I help…”

            Before he could finish, a nasally woman’s voice cut him off, “This is a reverse call informing you that the student with the student with the last name Rios: ID number ending in: 1075, did not attend mandatory classes on: Wednesday, May fif-teenth. Please contact the office of attendance as soon as possible: extension 7747.”

            The big man held the phone out away from his face, studied the screen and frowned. He knew that Nala had an exam that day at 1030, and he couldn’t think of a single reason for her missing it. He also knew that she’d been at headquarters that morning. So why hadn’t she made it to school? More so, if she’d had an accident or other problem why hadn’t she called? After trying Nala’s number three times and getting no response, he set the cell phone down and

 called Nala’s school. After punching in the extension a gruff man answered, “Olefson, attendance. How can I help you?”

            “Tyson Rios. Got a call about my daughter, saying that she missed classes today. ID…1075”

            “Hold one. Yes, Mr. Rios. She was not present for homeroom and _did not_ sign in late. Did she have a reason to miss classes today?”

            “No, she _did not_.” Tyson responded mimicking Olefson’s emphasis on, did not, like most civilians that he dealt with the man’s demeanor annoyed him, “I was under the impression that she had an exam at 1030.”

            “Nope, that exam is tomorrow, sir. I see that she has not had any absences, so there isn’t an issue with missed days. So let’s just make sure that you are aware of this absence, not uncommon after all for seniors to take liberties, and insure that she attends tomorrow for the Physics exam. Thanks for your cooperation.”

            Frustrated and slightly worried, he picked up the office phone and punched in Murray’s extension.

            “Yea, Alice, I’ve got a school situation with Nala. We need to push this evening’s meeting with the tire developer back. Ah, she was awol from classes, despite telling me that she had an exam this morning which was a lie; and she is not answering my texts or calls. No, it’s already 1620, and I need to track her down. Copy that…fine tomorrow at 0800.”

            “Let me know if I can help. I’m sure that she is fine, Tyson.”

            “Copy that.”

            Outwardly, Rios was calm, but his gut was twisting. Nala was the definition of responsibility. For her to vanish and lie to him about an important exam was unthinkable, and the only reasons that he fathomed revolved around catastrophic events. He tried her phone one more time and left a message, his eighth now, and then opened up his company computer. After logging in, he accessed a program designed to track cellphone signals and came up empty. Frustrated, he stormed out of his office and made his way straight to Secour’s control center.

“Whatever you’re doing, M.I.T. stop. I need you to track this V.I.N. number, post haste.”

Secour rotated round in his chair and took the slip of paper from Rios. He could tell by Tyson’s scowl that he was angry and worried.

“What’s up?”

“Nala’s truck. She’s MIA from school, not answering her phone. I did a trace on the phone and got no joy. Battery must be dead. Track that fucking truck that Salem gave her. Fucking Salem! You can do that right? The damned thing is wired bumper to bumper.”

“No problem, boss,” Secour replied wondering why the fact that Salem had given Nala the truck even mattered. He shrugged. Rios was weird when it came to stuff like that, “But are you sure that you don’t want to let her come on in on her own. Tracking her seems…”

“Find me that fucking truck!”

“Okay, okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Secour shoved away from his workstation and spun around in his chair.

            “Center monitor,” he said gravely spiking Rios’ concern, “The red blinking dot.”

            “Zoom it in.”

            Secour groaned, “Look, Boss, I don’t think that…”

            “Did I ask you to think? Zoom-the-visual!”

“Okay, jeeze.”

Then, using the keyboard, he zoomed in on the flashing dot. It was along the beach, about eighteen and a half miles north of headquarters. As the picture grew larger, street names began populating the screen. Rios didn’t need them.

            “That fucking little ass bitch! I’ll kill him!”

Rios honked the horn on the big black suburban and despite the closed, bullet proof windows yelled at the drivers in front of him. The eighteen mile drive to Salem’s condo had passed in flash of him venting his anger with the younger man at the interior of the empty vehicle. The red light turned green, and he gunned the big truck forward. At the turn into Salem’s condo, he braked hard enough to skid slightly, and as he powered into the under ground garage his tires squealed, echoing around the dimly lit concrete space.

            Nala’s custom Ford Raptor wasn’t hard to miss. It was parked in Salem’s designated visitor’s spot, to the left of his teal blue Raptor. Rios pulled in directly behind both vehicles blocking them in. He slammed the truck into park, shut it down and slid out. Try as he might, Rios could not come up with any rational reasons for his daughter to be at Salem’s condo during a school day. So as he marched to the elevator, with his fists clenched at his sides, the irate man stopped trying. He’d know soon enough.

            On the sixth floor, he exited the sandy floored, coconut oil scented car, stalked to Salem’s unit and knocked three times on the battered peach hued door. Three louder raps later and after still getting no reply, he took out his key and slipped in. Except for the thrumming sound of the air conditioner running, the small condo was silent. Frowning, he moved down the foyer. As he entered the living room, he stopped short. The first site that Rios saw was the empty Corona bottles on the coffee table and floor near the sofa, and the Stoli bottle on the far end table. Next, he saw Nala asleep on the end of the long leather sofa nearest him. In the opposite corner, he saw Elliot curled up also asleep.

The collective view unleashed all of his pent up worry. Furious, he exploded through the room throwing the coffee table aside, scattering the game controllers, remotes and empty bottles. Then, as Salem shot awake, Rios grabbed the groggy, smaller man by his throat, walked him backward, Salem's dangling feet eleven inches off of the marble tiled floor, and slammed him viciously against living room wall knocking a photograph of them in Marshal Pass down. Elliot grasped Rios’ thick wrists and kicked his feet, trying to get free. When Rios banged his head against the wall, Elliot’s vision started graying out around the edges and the metallic, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

“Rios!” He gagged out, still trying to wake fully up, “Fuck!”

“The fuck are you doing with my daughter! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The sound of the confrontation woke Nala, and she dashed to the two men. She grabbed her father’s left arm, threw all of her one-hundred and ten pounds backward trying to dislodge him from Salem’s throat. The smaller man was turning blue.

“Dad, let him go! Daddy, please. Uncle Elliot do something! Protect yourself! Dragon One! Dad!”

When Her father persisted, Nala, in a panic, snatched Rios’ Smith and Wesson 1911 out of the holster at the base of his spine, took two steps back, charged the big weapon, stood tippy-toed and pressed it into the left side of Rios’ neck.

“Let him go!”

Rios felt the cool barrel against his sweating neck, knew immediately what it was, and released Salem. The smaller dropped limply straight down to the floor gasping for breath. Rios spun round on Nala and chest heaving glared at the terrified girl. Defiant, she held the gun out, unwavering, in a perfect shooter's stance.

“Nala,” Rios began gently holding his hands out palms facing her, “Put the gun down, Peach.”

“Move away from him,” She snapped, “Go. Back over by the foyer, go!”

 “Okay, moving.”

He slid to his left, circling through the living room back toward the foyer. As he moved, Nala also moved sliding to her left toward Elliot who had scooted backward and was leaning against the wall eyes closed and his hands around his throat trying to catch his breath. Nala cross stepped in front of him, carefully over his spread eagle legs maintaining a line of sight on her father. When she was at Salem’s left side, she squatted down and grasped his shoulder.

“You good? Need a medic?”

“No,” he rasped shaking his head, “Put that thing away.”

“He was killing you.”

“Away, kiddo, _please_. You’re scaring me, And-A-Half.”

Nala took a long angry look at her father, then de-cocked the 1911 and placed it in Elliot’s outstretched hand. “He scared me.”

“Thank you. I know. Me too. Gimme a hand up.”

She tugged him up and held his left elbow while he walked back to the couch. Salem sat down heavily, and then when he went to place the gun on the coffee table realized that it was across the small room. Instead, he placed it on the end table.

“Hey, Nala,” he coughed shaking his head, “cold water from the fridge? Ice pack too. Head’s getting a lump.”

“Coming up.”

Rios watched, from the end of the foyer. His initial fury had subsided somewhat, but he wanted answers.

“Why is she here?” he growled at Elliot, “Why is she here with you, on a school day? Why didn’t you let me know she was skipping classes? Why, Salem?”

“How did you find me, Rios?” Nala snarled at her father handing Elliot his water.

Rios…He knew then that she was extremely angry. “Tracked your truck, Peach. I was worried.”

She rounded on the big man, “Do not call me Peach, you fucking neanderthal. Worried! Worried? So you have M.I.T track me down?”

“The school called. You lied about your exam. You skipped school. You weren’t answering your cell, worried. It’s not like you not to check in, to do any of those things. You’re always so responsible.”

She snorted, “Me responsible. Me! I’ll tell you just how responsible…”

“Nala,” Salem said softly. “Not like that, kiddo.”

“What could have happened to me, dad?”

“I don’t know Nay. We have enemies. Remember what happened to Salem on the Miami mission? And that was an old grudge. That bastard put four rounds into him. He was an enemy we didn’t even know that we had. And besides, I still _do not_ _know_ why you are here drinking beer, Nala, drinking with him. And you. What the fuck, Salem? Drinking beer with her, letting her cut school…”

“Tyse, she had a beer or two,” he sighed tiredly, “Not the first time. You let her drink in France that time. Fuck, you wrecked my throat, and I bit my lip. She’s a great kid. But has a situation, and she came to me for advice. We ate, had a few beers, worked on the situation, gamed and she was so tired. I was too, am, always so tired, anymore; and we just fell asleep, Tyse. The day was shot in the ass, and we just crashed before we could check in. Didn’t expect you to track her down and raid my fuckin’ house.”

Nala listened to Elliot’s explanation while picking up the scattered bottles and daubing up the small spills. The exhaustion and pain in his voice were heartbreaking. It saddened her too that her father had trashed the little condo when Salem was doing so well keeping it neat. It all made her regret involving him. It had been a selfish move, but she’d needed his support and unconditional love. All she could do now was protect him from her father’s wrath.

“Fix the table, dad. Uncle Elliot was trying to keep it neat in here and you made a mess of things.”

Tyson took in the space and sure enough, it was extremely neat and orderly. It even smelled nice; Cinnamon maybe, he thought, and sandalwood. Chastised, Tyson picked up the oak table, centered it back in front of the couch and lined the remote and controllers back up on the worn surface the way Salem normally did it. While there, he reached across Salem, retrieved the 1911 from the matching end table and re-holstered it. Tyson looked down at the smaller man. He was slumped in the sofa eyes half shut, with the ice pack on the back of his head, clearly suffering from the attack. Nala returned from the kitchen with three beers, interrupting his thoughts. She handed the men each one and when Rios started to complain about her’s she waved him off.

“Sit, Papa Tank, we need to talk.”

Rios hesitantly took a seat in the recliner, his recliner, that was there for him when he stayed over at Salem’s after missions. Something that he had not done in a long, long while and for a moment he felt sad. A wedge had grown between them since Mexico, a wedge that he and Alice seemed unable to repair. Maybe, he thought, it was a wedge that they’d truly not wanted to repair and therefore simply were not trying hard enough. Salem’s friendship on both personal and professional levels came with baggage, a great deal of baggage that over the years they’d grown weary of.

“Talk to me, Nala. What is the big situation?”

The girl looked over at Salem who nodded, and then back at her father. The adrenalin of the fight was draining away, but it and her anger at Rios for attacking Elliot had fueled her courage.

“Dad, you said that I was very responsible, and…I am. You both taught me to be, that it was the most important trait that a person could have. But, I made a mistake though, Dad. I was confused and scared, and well I needed to talk to somebody, I came here.”

“Why not me?”

“Dad, you just attacked Uncle Elliot. Which is exactly what I was afraid of. That you’d overreact and behave badly. I knew that Elliot wouldn’t. I came to him because I knew he’d be calm and just listen to me, help me sort my thoughts. I came to him…”

Rios had heard enough, and he snapped impatiently, “What is this problem that I couldn’t solve? That _he,_ the very definition of irresponsibility,” Rios snarled pointing at a still slumping Salem, “would be better at solving.”

“I’m pregnant, Dad, pregnant.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           

           


End file.
